An Avengers Christmas Carol
by photo41
Summary: it's Christmas Eve 30 years after New York. Natasha, having been forced to retire, now trains agents for duty, and has retreated into solitude. She gets a surprise visitor who reveals that unless she gets the help from 3 spirits (who take the form of those who could help her) she'll be condemned to loneliness forever. Totally Plagiarized from Dickens. Canon Pairings.
1. A Bleak Beginning

**Hey, so Merry Christmas everyone! A Christmas Carol is one of my favourite stories, and I've seen almost every adaption, and read it quite a few times. I was watching it again the other day when I was reminded of everyone's favourite assassin for whatever reason, so I decided to adapt it. Most of what you'll read is movieverse and my head canon, as well as liberties I've taken with the story (obviously). I've also included some of Dickens' original text, which I have not written at all, obviously... I am on the opposite end of the writing evolution spectrum compared to the wonderful Charles Dickens. Speaking of liberties, I've tried to incorporate as many characters as I can (just like Dickens amirite?)who mostly show up in the NEXT chapter. Sorry if anything's ooc. Warning, un beta'd. So without further adieu;**

**The Doctor may have encountered Dickens, but I never have, so he could never give me the ok to bastardize his tale like this.**

**I am not a billionaire, if I had anything to do with the avengers I would be. I do however, wish I was.**

Anya was dead to being with. There is no doubt whatever about that. And if there was anything Natasha knew, it was death. Anya was as dead as the Chitauri. Mind! I don't mean to say I that I know of my own knowledge of the battle, but the news clips of all of them falling down together in unison paints a rather nice picture of death, don't you think? Anyway, You'll let me repeat emphatically, that Anya was as dead as the Chitauri. Natasha knew she was dead? Of course. How could it be otherwise? When the Red Room implanted Natasha with fake memories, this was one of the real ones they left. Natasha saw her old bunk mate beaten mercilessly by an opponent in a training exercise, and that memory of the fear of being defeated could probably never be wiped out, not even by the most merciless memory wiping program. Anyway, mention of memory brings me back to the point I started from. Natasha remembered that Anya was dead. Knew it. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful could come of the story I am about to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced Hamlet's father was dead, what kind of play would that be? No, Natasha never forgot the death of Anya, and while she watched the two Shield recruits sparring under her direction in the academy, she was reminded of the incident. By this time, however, she had become very good at burying things she didn't want to remember, so it was more of a twinge in the back of her head than anything. Anya might have been dead, but Natasha certainly wasn't. She was still a tight fisted hand at the grindstone, always working even though she was past Shield's retirement age; bitter from being regaled to training commander when she couldn't keep up anymore; Fury wouldn't risk mixing more chemicals with the one she already had in her. Still hard and sharp as flint, however, secret self contained and as solitary as an oyster. No one in the academy ever stopped her unless for business, her students only spoke to her when spoken too; she had alienated all her past partners and teams, but what did Natasha care? It was the very thing she liked. To edge her way around Shield, remaining deadly, a mystery, warning all human sympathy to keep it's distance, Natasha had worked for that and happy she was because of it.

Once upon a time, on Christmas eve of all dates, since evil didn't get statutory holidays, Natasha was coaching two young recruits on the finer aspects of martial arts; although hidden underground, one could still tell the weather was cold and bleak, not that it bothered her; she grew up in Russia after all. She was currently yelling at the young men to stop impersonating elephants; martial arts were well, arts, and any run of the mill mercenary can use strength, and they were Shield agents for crying out loud.

"Alright" she began "that's enough for today. I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe you will grow some sense of balance overnight" the agents looked confused

"but Ma'am, tomorrow's Christmas!" Natasha looked unamused.

"What's that to me? I thought you all watched that Doctor Whom or whatever- crime festers during Christmas"

"But this isn't the main branch ma'am" The young agent looked at his shoes in an attempt to show submissiveness "the academy's always closed on Christmas, we aren't full agents yet"

"Well it should be operational", Natasha said bitterly, "We're coddling you".

"Don't you have plans ma'am?"The other agent tried desperately to change the subject when Natasha started to look feral.

"No, I don't. Christmas is for children."

"I'm sure you don't mean that ma'am" The agent was new.

"of course I do. What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills, most likely without money, a time for finding yourself older, but not better off, a time to look around at this dismal world and pretend to believe in peace and joy and togetherness when Shield is so desperately needed. If I could work my will when I finally go, every idiot who goes about with Merry Christmas on their lips should be boiled in their own damn pudding and buried with a stake of Holly in their eye socket."

"Ma'am!"

"You keep Christmas in your own way, and I'll keep it in mine. If you're not coming in to train tomorrow then get the hell out of here before I change my mind." The agents didn't need anymore persuading. At that moment, an aged Maria Hill walked in.

"My, my wasn't that touching"

"What the hell do you want Maria?"

" I was wondering if you wanted to have Christmas dinner with me tomorrow, my husband's quite the cook you know, and I've flown in some old friends of ours"

Natasha snorted. "I'll dine with you in hell Maria"

Maria rolled her eyes. "Why not?"

"Why did you get married?"

"Because I fell in love"

"Because you fell in love!" growled Natasha, as if that were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than Christmas. "See you later Maria."

"Fine Natasha, but why do you not want to be friends at least? Why be so lonely?"

"Later, Maria."

"Fine. Don't say I didn't try. I owe Stark 5 bucks." Maria left, though unangrily, and Natasha was left alone. She sparred by herself for awhile, painfully noting the deficiencies of age. She left the training grounds and slowly drove into town, the dark miserable weather leaving shadows and cold gusts of wind in it's wake. She parked in the lot beside her dwelling, it was a small townhouse which allowed her to live a solitary life free from annoying neighbours; no one came to her street, it was dark and gloomy on the best of days. The weather had made the small courtyard dark beyond belief, Natasha relied on her skills to trip over anything, though it wasn't as if she put out Christmas decorations. Now it was a fact that there was nothing particular about the knocker on her door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact that Natasha has seen it, night and morning during her whole residence in that place; also that Natasha has as little of what is called fancy about her as any person in the world. Let it also be borne in mind that Natasha has not thought about Anya for a very long, long time. And then let anyone explain to me, if they can, how it happened that Natasha, having her key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without it's undergoing any intermediate change- not a knocker, but Anya's face.

Anya's face, unaged since Natasha saw her last at 19, with the exception of having a dismal light about her, yet not angry or ferocious. Her hair was curiously stirred as if by breath or hot air; and though her eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. Her horror seemed to be in spite of her face, however, and beyond her control rather than a part of her expression. As Natasha looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again.

Not much started Natasha Romanov, but this did, to say the least. But she put her hand upon the key she has relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in and turned on the lights. She hesitated before shutting the door completely however, glanced at it again, shook her head and continued into her house. Unconciously however, she walked through all of her rooms to see that all was right. All as they should be. Nobody hiding in corners, behind doors, she had enough of her spy instincts left to tell as much, nobody had been in. She could feel it. Quite satisfied, she closed her door and locked herself in, her gun lounging on her night stand as usual. Thus secured against surprise, she took off her coat; put on her pyjamas; and old sweat shirt and sweat pants whose previous owner was much broader and handsomer than her- they were getting old, but she wouldn't replace them however she might bring herself too, they were the one thing she had left of him. She sat down and picked up her book and began to read. She looked up from her book a few chapters later as her alarm clock began to ring; strange, she hadn't set it. She tried to turn it off to no avail- it kept ringing, louder and louder until it seemed the whole world was echoing with the noise. This might have lasted half a minute or a minute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. Silence echoed through a house as Natasha held her breath until she heard it; A clanking noise, deep down below; as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the concrete sidewalks. The front door flew open with a booming sound, then Natasha heard the noise much louder on the floors below; then coming up the stairs straight for her door. Natasha slowly picked up her gun and moved to hide behind her wardrobe stealthily. Noise or not, she was still the Black Widow.

A voice so erethral and horrible then spoke; ``come out Natasha, I know you`re there". This was nothing Natasha was ever trained for when she spotted what had passed through the heavy door; It was Anya's ghost. The same face; she had her Red Room Uniform on, her same coal black hair, sharp features. The chain she drew was clasped about her middle. It was long and wound about her like a tail; and it was made of guns, knives, bullets, nooses wrought with steel. Her body was transparent, so Natasha could look through her, Natasha hardly believed it. No, nor did she believe it. She was still incredulous, and fought against her instincts. Aliens and mutants were one thing; ghosts were another.

"What the hell" said Natasha, caustic and cold as ever. "what do you want with me?" Anya chuckled.

"Much".

"Who are you?"

"Ask me who I was"

"Who were you then"

"In life I was your bunk mate, Anya Bulgakov. You don't believe in me"

"Of course I don't. Damned if I've been drugged. I don't know how though."

"You should watch your words Natasha. Why doubt your senses though? You would have known if you were drugged."Natasha shrugged.

"Whatever." At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook it's chain with such a dismal and appalling noise that Natasha, who was scared of nothing, held tighter to her gun. "What do you want?!"

"I have been doomed to wander through the world- oh woe is me!- and witness what I cannot share, but might have shared on earth and if I had turned to happiness!"

'What does that have to do with me?"

"I wear the chain I forged in life! I made it link by link and yard by yard: I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is it's pattern strange to you? Or would you know the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself, it was as full and heavy as this so many years ago!"

"That's nothing of what I've done" replied Natasha indignantly. I didn't choose this life- neither did you. I've tried to wipe my ledger by joining Shield, if that didn't help, than nothing will. Death it seems, is not as fair as life."

"You don't understand, Natasha; I too, like you, was given a chance to escape I never told you. I fell in love with a mark, and he with me, he offered to take me to America, to take me away, but all I thought of was how poor he was going to be, not loyalty to mother Russia, not betraying the Red Room; none of us ever felt allied with them; I wanted money, I wanted the power so I said no and doomed myself to this eternity. You Natasha, had the chance to escape and you did, and although you now fight and fought for the greater good; it's only because it's what serves you best. You might not murder innocents Natasha, but you certainly don't help them much either. You care for no one but yourself, and hurt those who try to help you. How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see is of no consequence. I am here tonight to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. You will be haunted by three spirits, who will take on forms as to not scare you with their true nature, and they will try to get you to shun the path I tread. Except the first when the bell tolls one. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what passed between us!"

When she had said these words, Anya took her chains, walked backward toward the window and fell into the street below; where Natasha could hear wails of lamenting and regret; ghosts filled up the street, just as horrible as Anya, screeching and making Natasha's blood boil. She slammed the window shut, walked with surprisingly slow speed over to her bed and fell asleep upon it- her hand still wrapped around her gun.

**And there you have it! Part 1. I will update each part everyday up till and including Christmas Eve. And yes, I know it's basically 90% plagiarism, I never said it wasn't. I take no credit whatsoever for any of this.**

**Merry Christmas! Photo41**


	2. Christmas Past

**Alright! So on we get with this story; the ghost of Christmas past- a familiar face? Who's it going to be? I said it before, and I say it again- all Dickens, all the time. Clint shows up in the chapter! :D For ages, I feel like Nat was 28 in 2012, so she would be (does math on calculator because is a polisci major) 58. She was therefore born in 1984. Be warned, un beta'd. I take no credit for this.**

When Natasha awoke, it was so dark that, looking out of bed, she could scarcely distinguish her window from her wall; suddenly her alarm clock chimed 12, which was odd indeed since alarm clocks don't usually chime the hour. What was odder still was that it was past two when she went to bed. Confused she sat up and started to play with the clock to try to change it back, to no avail. She soon gave up. Anya's ghost bothered her exceedingly. Everytime she convinced herself it was a dream, her mind flew back again to how real it seemed and doubt reflooded her brain. Her clock chimed again- except this time, with a deep, dull, melancholy and hollow tone. Natasha picked her gun back up as light flashed up in the room; she then found herself face to face with the unearthly visitor...

"Steve?! What are YOU doing here? How did you.." She was cut off.

"No, not Steve" replied the spectre, "I just look like him." Indeed he did, from his well toned shoulders to calves he was dressed in his Cap uniform, sans helmet, with the exception that it was bright white; his golden hair was even more golden than before, and his shield sparkled and glittered now in one part and now in another, as if it were made of the stars themselves.

"Are you the spirit who I was warned about then? Why the hell are you dressed like Steve?"

"You would be driven mad by my true form- I chose a form you knew which was appropriate- Steven Rogers is a man of the past, and that's where we are going."

"What, in a TARDIS?"

"I don't understand that refrence" began the Steve- like spirit, "Rise! And walk with me!" It would have been in vain for Natasha to protest on account of her appearance so she took Steve's hand and walked towards the window.

"You do realize," she began, "I am a mortal and therefore liable to fall"

"bear but a touch of your hand there" said the spirit, laying her hand upon the shield, "and you shall be upheld in more than this!" As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall and stood upon an busy street, with signs up advertising products and services in German. Natasha supposed it to be around Christmas time, as the streets were decorated, but the whole place had an old world feel- she looked around at the clothes and realized it was sometime in the 90's.

"What the... it's West Berlin, a few years after the wall fell... I was on alot of early espionage training missions here as a girl... no one would suspect a nine year old to be sniffing out KGB deserters." Natasha was by then very good at keeping the bitterness out of her voice.

Steve gazed upon her mildly. "Your lip is trembling. And what is that on your cheek?" Natasha muttered, with an unusual catching voice, that it was some old scar. The ghost then pointed out a familiar red flash- Natasha craned her neck to glance at her 9 year old self- pretending to look at the windows, when really on the look out for her mark. She gasped. They both watched as a little girl and what seemed to be her father stepped up beside Natasha and started laughing and pointing at the windows. Natasha could see her younger self pretend not to listen, but she knew, she rememebered what she was really feeling.

"I have to warn her to keep her head in the mission" Natasha moved to cross the street, but was stopped by Steve.

"Romanov, these are but shadows of the things that have been" he began mildly "They have no consciousness of us" They continued to watch, to Natasha's horror, as her younger self's face begins to darken while listening to the happy ramblings of the father and daughter, until she realized that her mark walked right by her, forcing her to plough through the crowd, drawing unnecessary attention to herself. Natasha winced as she watched her younger self pull out and twist the poisoned ring she was wearing, leap up onto the man in the alley and plunge the needle into his neck. Time seemed to fast forward and Natasha watched herself slunk out of the alley, watched the police surround the body, watched as the streets were slowly deserted until she was alone, waiting for a pickup that would be a day late.

"These streets are not quite deserted" began the spirit, in a tone that was most reminiscent of Steve when he was consoling a team mate who has made a mistake- "a solitary child, neglected by those who said they were her only family, she is there still" Natasha said she knew it. And she sobbed.

They flew again, over Germany into the white tipped Russia, with it's familiar Soviet-era buildings, and farms that went for miles. They soon approached a compound, of dull grey concrete and barbed wire fence 10 feet high. There was a chilly bareness in the place, which associated itself somehow with too much getting up before dawn, and not too much to eat. They went, the ghost and Natasha, to a door at the back of the main building. It opened before them, and disclosed a long bare, melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain bunk beds- all white and small. Upon each of these beds was an even smaller girl, and although they were together, they all seemed even more lonely because of it. Natasha sat down and wept to see her old bedroom, even worse than what the memories replayed. Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scuffle of mice, not a drip from the half thawed water spout in the sink at the head of the room. Just silence. Steve touched her on the arm and pointed to her younger self, now returned from that same mission, curled up and pretending to sleep.

"I wish" Natasha muttered, putting her hands in the large front pocket of the sweatshirt "but it's too late now."

"What is the matter?" asked the spirit, who sounded more and more like Steve with every gentle question.

"Nothing." said Natasha "Nothing. I was just... remembering. I should have liked to tell myself that there was nothing to be jealous of way back then; that's all" Steve smiled thoughtfully and waved his hand, saying as he did so "Let us see another Christmas!" Natasha's former self grew larger until she almost didn't fit on the bottom bunk bed anymore, and the room became a little darker, and a little dirtier. Natasha also watched as the number of girls dwindled, and pushed the memories of why what happened to be to the back of her mind. She was reading now, though, as being exempt from some late night training since she was the top of her... 'class' the last week. Suddenly, another girl came sprinting up to Natasha glancing around. Natasha's eyes widened as she found herself gazing upon Anya's face for the second time that night.

"Natasha!" exclaimed the Raven haired girl "Shh! No time to explain. Here." She shoved a small package onto Natasha's lap so it was hidden by her book. "Merry Christmas!"

"But I didn't..."

"No need. I saw it on my mission and thought of you. I just got back. Quick! Hide it under your pillow before the others return!" It wasn't until much later Natasha would have a chance to open the gift and find a spider preserved in some sort of crystal.

Natasha smiled gratefully at Anya that same night as they faced each other from across their aisle.

"Thank you" Natasha mouthed at Anya "It's perfect."

"She was my first real friend. It was rare to find real friends at that place. Constantly driving into us that you can't trust anyone was probably the reason why".

"It would seem she had a large heart". The Steve spirit laid his hand upon Natasha's shoulder consolingly.

"It wouldn't matter in the end." Natasha stated bitterly "It's because of her I'm in this mess."

"If you do alright, perhaps she'll get out of hers." Natasha looked at the spirit questioningly, but then was whisked to a new compound, one however, with a much more welcoming atmosphere. The salty texture of the air, the feeling that gravity was only a construct, she'd know the helicarrier anywhere it was, whatever time of day. She was in a corridor, one a floor up from the barracks, a bridge between the armoury and storage compartment 2. They walked along the hallway and stopped at a door, and Steve asked if she knew it.

"Know it!" said Natasha "If you were the real Steve, you'd know this was the exercise room; too many agents in a enclosed space- if we didn't have a place to let off steam, then I wouldn't want to be on this thing right now." They went in. It was oddly deserted; a few agents at the shooting range, a few sparring, one on the treadmills. Natasha glanced over her colleagues young faces- dead in 3 years, crippled, retired, desk job, dead, dead. Natasha was remembering fates rather than names. Steve pointed to a secluded corner, where a familiar face was honing their gymnast skills. Natasha watched herself leap down, grab a towel and water bottle and go and sit in the viewing area up top. She and Steve followed.

"This must've been my first year in Shield. They haven't put any of the super stuff in yet." She watched herself take a drink but then cough it up as an unheard presence made itself known

"Kinda sucks that we have to work Christmas, doesn't it Romanov?" Clint's Midwestern accent wasn't as diluted as it would become, and Natasha fondly recalled teasing him that his accent was stronger than hers- and he was a national.

"No. No it doesn't. For one thing, crime doesn't stop for silly little consumerist holidays. And another, I've never done anything for Christmas that I can remember so, no it's just another day of work for me." Natasha's old self glared at Clint coldly, as to warn him off the subject, but Natasha knew, even if she didn't already remember this conversation all to well, that Clint never backed down. Ever.

"Pssh. It's not JUST a consumerist holiday Tash" Another glare "But you're right. Everything goes terribly wrong on Christmas if you've ever watched Doctor Who. Anyway, you can start doing stuff for Christmas now that you're American. Here." He tossed her a box, whilst throwing her his most charming grin "Merry Christmas"

"Barton please, don't go all sentimental on me. You're supposed to be an assassin." She opened the box anyway. Inside there was a belt buckle, in the shape of a red hourglass...

"Don't deny it. You were suffering in that uniform. You needed some individuality. Your codename is black widow, it fits." Natasha's younger self looked up at the man with a very suppressed look of awe.

"Thank you" she began in Russian "Merry... Merry Christmas Clint." If it was possible, Clint's grin grew even wider.

"You're welcome Tash. And it will be. No matter where we are tomorrow, it'll be fun."The older Natasha didn't trust herself to speak.

"my time grows short" observed Steve. "Quick!" This was not addressed to Natasha, but it had an immediate effect. For again Natasha saw herself, no longer on the helicarrier. She recognized the base that was rebuilt after Clint and Loki had nearly demolished it, recognized herself about 32 walking down the corridor with her usual 'don't mess with me' expression. She watched as her younger self paused to eaves...um listen to 2 newly acquired agents complaining.

"I almost wish we were still in training. At least we'd get Christmas off. It's so hard to explain to parents you can't make it when you can't tell them _why_" The other agent snorted

"They should make all the other agents who _don't_ have families work it. It's not like they're accountable to anyone." The first agent laughed.

"Can you imagine?! Romanov sitting around a Christmas table, wearing a paper hat schmoozing inlaws?" The agents were nearly doubled over with laughter.

"As if she could ever have inlaws- somehow love and marriage don't fit her description. Good thing Barton doesn't have parents. I feel sorry for him though. He must know that she could never really love him, doesn't he?"

"Barton can take care of himself. He nearly 'took care of' the entire helicarrier, remember? But you're right. I do feel bad for him, but hey it's not like he could ever have a normal life in any event." Natasha watched as her younger self turned away from the agents and walked briskly in the direction of her room. She and Steve followed herself as she slammed the door closed and sat on the bed with her head in her hands. Time fast forwarded again when Clint sauntered in the room.

"Tash! Guess what? I accidentally let it slip to Barney that we have Christmas off... Hey what's wrong?"Although it would appear that nothing was wrong with Natasha, Clint knew better.

"Nothing. I still can't believe you've forgiven him after what he did to you, but go on." Clint knew when to drop things.

"He's my brother Tash, I can't un-family him. Anyway, he's invited us over for Christmas dinner, would you be up for it?" A dark look passed over Natasha's face.

"You know I don't do domestic Barton. How could you think I'd ever be happy sitting around a table with a bunch of kids. Does Barney want a person sitting at his table who killed before the age of 9?"

"You seem to be taking Barney into more consideration, even though you were insulting him a second ago. And I dunno, I thought you'd maybe enjoy it, almost be normal for once. WE could be almost normal for once."

"How can I be normal Clint? I don't want to be normal. I can't be 'normal'. And also, 'we'? What do you mean 'we'? Clint you have to know that this us you're going on about won't work... you're taking me home to meet your family. What do you think this is?" The older Natasha watched heartbrokenly, as Clint fingered a box in his pocket.

"I guess I inferred from the way we have been acting of late that we were something. I guess I was wrong."

"Of course you are Clint. You think you've defined me, but you haven't. I'll remind you that I was my own person before you spared me."

"I never said you weren't. Why are you with me then? If you feel like I'm stifling you, then why haven't you left? Asked for another partner? Stopped... this." Realization seemed to dawn on Clint's face. "is this a stupid ledger thing? If it is... then I release you." His tone had turned from menacing to broken.

"From what?!"

"From my influence. From whatever ridiculous debt you seem to think you owe me. I release you. With a full heart, for the love of her that I thought you might have been. May you be happy or whatever it is you want to feel Natasha."

"Steve! Stop this!" said Natasha "Show me no more! Why do you delight to torture me with my most cowardly moment!?"

"Cowardly?"

"Yes cowardly! I was afraid of what he'd done to me, I always said love was for children, and I realized when those agents were talking that I COULD imagine myself in that scenario- all too easily. I was scared when I realized I really did love him. I was afraid I'd loose power, loose myself, when really, I lost myself when he walked out that door."

"One shadow more!" exclaimed Steve.

"No more! No more. I don't wish to see it!"

But the Steve-Spirit forced her to observe what happened next. It was a living room, not very large or fancy, but full of comfort. Near to the fire a boy sat on the lap of man, so like _him _that Natasha thought she was looking at Clint's childhood when she realized the man holding the child was Clint, aged, but still handsome. The noise in this room was perfectly tumultuous for there was more children than it was possible to keep track of, yet this didn't seem to be a problem. All the adults were laughing heartily while the children whizzed away with whatever they were doing, but Nat could only keep her eyes on Clint, reading a book to the boy on his lap, grinning the smile that he used to save for her. She was happy and sad at the same time- glad he was happy, sad that he'd moved on, even though that's what she wanted him to do. She rarely saw him again after their spat. But a man suddenly tried to get the attention of the room, and it could only have been Barney. Seeing his brother's plight Clint got the room's attention. He was good at that.

"Come on kids, time for bed! You have an exciting day tomorrow!" a unanimous groan passed through the kids, and Clint laughed.

"Come on Adam, your Dad says it's bedtime" Natasha watched as Clint stood up with the boy, started towards the stairs. Natasha didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry upon hearing the revelation that Clint was not the boy's father, but still admired him as he walked with the kids up the stairs.

"Steve..."

"He never married."

"I see." The scene changed again, and Nat watched the two brothers in deep conversation.

"So you still haven't heard from her?"

"Who?"

"You know who I mean Clint." Natasha watched in horror as a pained look flashed briefly across Clint's face.

"It's been 10 some odd years. I'm over it"

"Steve, stop. I can't listen to this. Take me back. Please!" Natasha tried to tug Steve away in a struggle, if it can be called a struggle in which the ghost with no visible resistance on it's own part was undisturbed by the effect of it's adversary, Natasha suddenly observed his Shield, grabbed it, and screamed

"Take me home!"

She was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; and further, of being in her own bedroom; where she sank into a heavy sleep.

**And there you have it! Steve-Spectre didn't have many lines, so even though I tried to make him like Steve, he was still ooc. Oh well. He wasn't really himself anyway. Who's going to be the ghost of Christmas present? You'll have to stay tuned to find out! I hope you enjoyed it! Merry Christmas!**

**Photo41**


	3. The Present and Future Christmas

**Alrighty, so I lied a bit about updating every day- I wasn't finished this part yesterday, because it has 2 spirits innit! So here we go! Again, sorry for errors, Un beta'd.**

Awaking from the middle of a tumultuous sleep, and sitting up in bed to get her thoughts together, Natasha had no occasion to be told that her alarm clock was again upon the stroke of One. She felt that she was restored to consciousness in the right nick of time, for the especial purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger dispatched to her through Anya's intervention. But, finding that she turned uncomfortably cold when she began to wonder from which wall would the spirit jump out from, she grabbed her gun (despite the fact they were deadish already) and established a sharp look-out all around. For, she wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise, and made nervous.

Given that Natasha was a spy, and once called aliens and mutants her colleagues, and even in her advanced years very adaptable, I don't mind calling on you to believe that she was ready for a good broad field of strange appearances, and that nothing between a baby and rhinoceros would have astonished her very much.

Now, being prepared for almost anything, she was not by any means prepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the Bell struck One, and no shape appeared, she was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, she sat upon her bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of blue light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour; and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as she was powerless to make out what it meant, or would be at; and was sometimes apprehensive that she might be at that very moment an interesting case of spontaneous combustion, without having the consolation of knowing it. At last, however, she began to think - as you or I would have thought at first; for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too - at last, I say, he began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of her mind, she tentatively got up softly and shuffled to the door.

Natasha turned the handle and peered inside and was taken aback.

It was her living room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with what appeared to be high end Christmas decorations, it looked as if Martha Stewart was using her home for a spread in a magazine. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, was almost every type of liquor you could think of, and the expensive stuff too. However, the source of the blue light, sitting in a lounge chair, dressed in a fitted white business shirt and slacks was none other than;

"STARK!? Oh damn me now. I should've known. These spirits are from heaven rather than hell."

"hey, Romanov, you better watch what you say. And besides. Did Stevie not explain this to you proper? I'm NOT Stark. I just look like 'im. Tony Stark is the shining example of this age; of course he represents Christmas present; it's who I really am after all."Natasha snorted.

"Stark? Really?"

"He's a philanthropist. He works on mass producing medicines with Bruce Banner. He's given up his maverick ways; his kids are all grown up. He's been married to Potts for at least 20 years now, and by learning to play with others" Natasha glowered at the mention of her report "He's saved the world a couple times. Like it or not Romanov, he's got his shit together."

"Let's just get this over with then. I'm NOT touching your chest, by the way."

"Fine, take my hand then." Natasha, chanting to herself ;

"It's not really Stark, it's not really Stark" reluctantly took Tony's hand, and everything from the crystal snowflakes to the fine appetizers all vanished instantly, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning, where (for the weather was severe) the people made a rough, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front of the city's buildings; the tall skyscrapers looked black enough, for no one was at work, but the Christmas decorations still sparkled with as much force as ever. There was nothing very cheerful in the climate or the city, and yet was there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air and brightest summer sun might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain.

For, the people who were out and about, even on Christmas were jovial and full of glee; calling out to one another from across the streets, and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball - better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest - laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong.

The churches were still lit up however, and early Christmas services could be heard around town. In time the bells ceased, and the sky became dark and Natasha and Tony stopped in front of a high rise, where Natasha knew Maria Hill lived.

It was a great surprise to Natasha, who was still not used to appearing and disappearing, to one moment be looking at a door and the next hear a laugh that could only belong to Thor. It was a much greater surprise to find herself in a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Tony Spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking at that same ThunderGod with approving affability.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Thor. "Ha, ha, ha!" It seemed that Maria wasn't kidding when she said she'd invited some old friends; Cap (the real one this time), Bruce, Thor and surprisingly,

"Now there's a handsome devil" interjected the spirit as Natasha also sighted the real Tony, who sat beside Pepper grinning his signature Stark grin. (With greyed hair however.)

If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blest in a laugh than Thor, all I can say is, I should like to know him too. Introduce him to me, and I'll cultivate his acquaintance.

It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humour. When Thor laughed in this way: holding his sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions: his wife laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.

"Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!"

"She said that Christmas was for children as I live!" cried Maria "She believed it too."

"More shame for her, Maria." said Pepper, indignantly.

"She's gotten even more reclusive," said Maria, "that's the truth: and not so pleasant as she might be. However, her offenses carry their own punishment, and I have nothing to say against her."

"You might not Maria" began the real Tony with his usual better than thou air "but after what she did to poor Legolas, I could say a whole lot against her, but it's Christmas, and I'm behaving myself now apparently, so I won't"

"I have no patience with her," observed Pepper. "I used to think we were friends, But I wonder if that was all a ruse too."

"I am sorry for her; I couldn't be angry with her if I tried." Bruce had always been of the forgiving nature. "Who suffers by her ill whims? Herself, always. Clint knew what he was getting into. Here, she takes it into her head to distance herself from us, and she won't come and dine with us. What's the consequence?"

"Indeed, I think she loses a very good dinner," interrupted Thor "Where is Barton, by the way?" Maria answered

"He's stationed in Alaska; he's still on active duty since he's a sniper. I tried getting him to reject the mission, but he wouldn't" Bruce continued.

"Anyway, I think that the consequence of her distancing herself, and not being friendly, is, as I think, that she loses some pleasant moments, which could do her no harm. I am sure she loses pleasanter companions than she can find in her own thoughts. I mean to give her the same chance every year, now that she's retired, whether she likes it or not, for I pity her. She may rail at Christmas till she dies, but even she can't want to be forever alone."The real Tony spoke up.

"Whatever the ice Queen's problem is, I don't give a damn. It's Christmas eve and Pep and I haven't had any real fun since the kids were born-" Steve interrupted him.

"No matter what we think of her, she was still once our friend, and I don't think us debating her is going to do any good except make us all upset." The conversation then changed direction and after some time, first from how Tony was monitoring his grown children with technology that should really only be used for defence, and once one parent starts talking about their child, the rest have to as well. By then, Tony had drunk enough to demand that they start playing party games; because after all, they only lived once.

They began with 20 questions, and Tony, who volunteered to go first, went under the brisk fire of questioning elicited from him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that growled sometimes, and talked sometimes, and lived in the city, and walked about the streets, and wasn't made a show of, and wasn't led by anybody, and didn't live in a menagerie, and was never killed in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. At every fresh question that was put to him, Tony burst into a fresh roar of laughter; and was so inexpressibly tickled, that he was obliged to get up off the sofa and stamp. At last the Thor, falling into a similar state, cried out:

"I have found it out! I know what it is, Tony! I know what it is!"

"What is it?" cried Tony.

"It's Natasha!"

Half the party doubled over, and the other half went silent. Tony continued his joke that he should have replied yes to the question "Is it a bear?" when Pepper scolded him for being inconsiderate.

"Why Pep? These past years she's been horrible to work with, horrible to poor Clint, and although she might've been an asset, I hear from Maria that she treats the new agents horribly."

"We don't know if there's something behind that Tony, maybe there's something Clint isn't telling us."

At this point, Natasha turned away from the scene and muttered;

"I guess I deserved that"

"Hell yes you did" replied the Tony-Spectre. Natasha looked up and

the whole scene passed off in the breath of the last word spoken by Peper; and she and the Spirit were again upon their travels.

The air had become thick with snow, and Natasha spied a small wooden cabin, which would have been non descript, if it wasn't for the high tech antenna that was sticking out of it. Her and Tony walked through the wall and came upon Clint, cleaning his rifle. He aged well, she thought, even though there wasn't really a possibility to the otherwise. Had she been able to take her eyes off Clint, she would've noticed the tiny Christmas tree in the room, which Clint was very proud of cutting down himself, even though it was barely a branch. Suddenly he touched his ear, and replied:

"Barton. Yes, I'm monitoring the base. (Cough) No, no activity, (cough) yes, yes I'm fine. Alright. I'll check in again in a few hours." No sooner than he switched off the earpiece when a coughing fit overtook him; Natasha watched in horror as he doubled over, wheezing and ran a hand over his face.

"The extreme conditions are getting to him. He's either really hot or really cold. Perils of being the best shot in the world I suppose."

"Spirit," said Natasha, trying to mask her interest, "tell me if Clint will live much longer."

"I see a vacant locker," replied the Ghost, "and a bow without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, the Clint will die soon."

"No, no," said Natasha. "Oh, no, Tony, please. Say you could save him!"

"If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other of my race," returned the Ghost, "will find him alive."

Natasha's heart was again smashed when she heard Clint mutter in Russian:

"Merry Christmas Natasha"

Suddenly, Tony's Heart began to flicker. "My life upon this earth, isn't very long," said the Ghost. "the end is pretty much nigh."

"What? When!" cried Natasha.

"To-night at midnight. Look's like it's time to bow out."

They heard ringing the three quarters past eleven at that moment.

They were suddenly in an empty room, illuminated only by Tony's increasingly dimmer heart.

"Now, Romanov, see here. I'm warning you; the next spirit is different than us past two, you're going to see their real form. It's funny, they've requested this case, and to tell you the truth, they intimidate all of us even though they haven't been dead for that long. So long Romanov, try not to be such a pain in the as, ok?"

His light went out. The bell struck twelve.

Natasha looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it not. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of Anya, and lifting up her eyes, beheld a solemn figure suited and stoic as ever. Natasha couldn't believe her eyes. It was Coulson.

Coulson slowly, gravely, silently approached. His suit was blacker than it'd ever been, and his face looked ageless and at peace.

She felt that he was tall and stately when he came beside her, and that his mysterious presence was persevered, even in death. However, the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.

"Coulson, YOU'RE the Ghost of Christmas future?" asked Natasha. "I've- we've- missed you, I'm sorry I haven't taken care of Clint very well..."

The Spirit answered not, but pointed downward with his hand.

"You're going to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us," Natasha pursued.

He nodded.

Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Natasha feared Coulson's silence so much that her legs trembled beneath her and she found that she could hardly stand when she prepared to follow him. Coulson pauses a moment, as observing her condition, and giving her time to recover.

But Natasha was all the worse for this. It thrilled her with a vague uncertain horror, to know that Coulson was working for whatever lay in the undiscover'd country, yet she was pleased he had found peace.

"Still a workaholic" she muttered, "Thank you for helping me Coulson, won't you speak to me?"

He gave her no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.

"Lead on, then" sighed Natasha "Lead on. The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Coulson"

They scarcely seemed to enter the helicarrier; for the helicarrier rather seemed to spring up about them, and encompass them of its own act. But there they were, in the heart of it; on Change, amongst the agents; who hurried up and down, carrying weapons and important documents, and conversed in groups, and looked at their tablets, and typed away at computers; and so forth, as Natasha had seen them often.

Coulson stopped beside one little knot of Agents who Natasha vaguely recognized. Observing that Coulson was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their talk.

"No," said the first," I don't know much about it, either way. I only know she's dead."

"When did she die?" inquired another.

"Last night, I believe."

"Why, what was the matter with her? I thought she'd never die."

"God knows," said the first, with a yawn.

"What has she done with her things?" asked another

"I haven't heard," said the second. "Left it to be destroyed, perhaps. Doesn't have anyone to leave it too. That's all I know."

This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.

"It's likely to be a very small," said the same speaker; "I don't know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make up a party and volunteer?"

"I don't mind going if a lunch is provided, but I must be fed, if I make one."

Another laugh.

"Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all," said the first speaker," for I am as busy with this whole arms race as is everyone else. But I'll offer to go, if anybody else will. She was a good agent, even if a bit rough"

Speakers and listeners strolled away, and continued with their duties. Natasha looked towards Coulson for an explanation.

He glided into another room. His finger pointed to two persons meeting. Natasha listened again, thinking that the explanation might lie here.

She knew these men, also, perfectly. They were ones she had trained, and they had worked their way up in rank, they were shrewd and good fighters: she was almost proud of them.

"How are you?" said one.

"How are you?" returned the other.

"Well!" said the first. "Old Red has got her own at last."

"So I am told," returned the second. "Cold, isn't it."

"We are 1,000 feet in the air."

"I'll never get used to it. Good morning."

Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting.

Natasha was at first inclined to be surprised that Coulson should attach importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose, she set herself to consider what it was likely to be. They could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on the death of Anya, since this was SHEILD, not the Red Room. Nor could she think of any one immediately connected with herself, to whom she could make a link. She hoped everything would be apparent when the shadow of herself appeared. For she had an expectation that the conduct of his future herself would give her the clue she missed.

She never saw herself, however, as they roamed through the helicarrier, and soon left the busy airship and were transported to SHEILD's land base.

They entered a board meeting it seemed, and the committee seemed to be discussing what to do with the desceased's things.

"Well then, what do we got? A condo, furniture, clothing, a computer, quite the collection of weapons, some jewellery and documents such as photos and certificates."

"You're forgetting the money"

"Ah, yes, at lease 10,000. We don't know if she had offshore accounts, so there's probably alot out there."

"Anything classified?"

"Not that we've found yet"

"we could sell it, absorb the profits into SHEILD, but it's not like it needs the money."

"We'll have to destroy her weapons- we can't let those into the wrong hands and no one will want to use them"

"Why couldn't she have family or friends? It would make this so much easier."

"If she had some, she'd have had somebody to look after her when she was struck with Death, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by herself."

"It's the truest word that ever was spoke, it's a judgment on her."

"This is the end of it, you see. She frightened every one away from him when she was alive, to mess about with us when she was dead. She didn't even specify any burial procedures!"

"Coulson," said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot. "I see, I see. The case of this unhappy woman might be my own. My life tends that way, now. Wait, what the heck is this?"

She recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bed: on which, beneath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up, which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language.

The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though Natasha glanced round it in habit, anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed; and on it, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this woman.

Natasha glanced towards the Coulson. His steady hand was pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon Natasha's part, would have disclosed the face. She had seen and made many dead bodies in her time, and she thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss Coulson who stood at her side.

"Coulson,." she said, "this... this place, I can't stand it. I've learned the lesson. Can we go?"

Still the Coulson pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.

"I understand you," Natasha returned, "and I would do it, if I could. But I... I can't."

Again he looked at her.

"If there is anyone, who feels emotion caused by this woman's death," said Natasha quite agonised, "show them to me, Coulson, please."

Coulson raised his eyebrow, and waved; revealed the training facility where new recruits were milling about.

"I wonder what's keeping her?"

"She's never late." One came running in.

"Well? Where is she?"

"She is dead." A gasp went around the room; Natasha heard snippets of conversation; apparently they were going to be tested today, but they all knew that not one of their number was ready, and would have been kicked out of the program if they failed. It was a happier house for this woman's death. The only emotion that the Ghost could show him, caused by the event, was one of pleasure.

"Let me see some tenderness connected with a death," said Natasha; "or that room, which we left just now, will be for ever present to me."

The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to her feet; and as they went along, Natasha looked here and there to find herself, but nowhere was he to be seen. They entered a cemetery, where she recognized Maria, Steve, Tony, and the rest of their core team and those who would join over the years; as well as very many agents, all dressed in black. It would seem that a funeral had just ended, as people were starting to leave. Quiet. Very quiet. Even the usually noisy Tony was still as a statues in one corner, and stood looking up. Thor spoke.

"I cannot believe he's parted this realm. He seemed at times the strongest of all of us, despite his handicap."

"He was a good agent, and a better friend" added Steve forlornly

"I'm glad I knew him." Everyone looked at Tony. "I really am. I remember being so astonished at his f-up life once he told me about it, I understood why he was the way he was. I'll miss him. Terribly."

He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. The other's faces were no longer dry soon after.

"She didn't even come. Couldn't show her face. Figures. She knows it was HER that drove him to an early grave. I wouldn't have been able to restrain myself if she did." Bruce laid a hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Natasha didn't kill him Tony, that's unfair to say he... he should have retired." Natasha felt the colour drain from her face. This was Clint's funeral. She suddenly was aware of Barney and his kids standing off to the side huddled together. Natasha felt as if she were to be sick.

"No, no, no no, Coulson, how could- I mean please, please take me away, please!" She was sobbing. "Let me see what I shall be, in days to come."

Coulson stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.

"Why do you point there? Was I watching from secret?" Natasha craned her neck and time suddenly began to fast forward, it was dark, yet inexorable finger underwent no change.

They walked toward a tombstone. Here, then, Natasha supposed, the wretched woman whose name she had now to learn, lay underneath the ground.

Coulson stood among the graves, and pointed down to One. She advanced towards it trembling. Coulson was exactly as it had been, but she dreaded that she saw new meaning in his solemn expression.

"Before I read this grave; are these only shadows, or can I change the future if I change my path?"

Still Coulson pointed downward to the grave by which he stood.

"Please, say I can change!"

Coulson was immovable as ever.

Natasha crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave, her own name. She'd never feared death before, but she sure as hell feared it now.

"Am I that woman who lay upon the bed?" she cried, upon her knees.

The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.

"No, Coulson! Oh no, no!"

The finger still was there.

"Coulson!" she cried, tight clutching her chest together, as if afraid she'd burst, "hear me. I realize what I did wrong I thought being alone was the best option, now I see that I was scared. Why show me this, if I am past all hope?"

For the first time the hand appeared to shake.

"Coulson," she pursued, as down upon the ground she fell before it: "You were always a good handler, and a better friend. Tell me I can change, please! Help me make Clint happy! Really cleanse my ledger!"

The kind hand trembled.

"I will reconcile with my friends, I won't shut away from the world. I'll try not to hurt those that love me, and I'll try to help those that need my guidance."

In her agony, she caught Coulson's hand. He sought to free himself, but she was strong and detained it.

Coulson leaned toward her, cupped her face in his hand, and finally whispered;

"I know you will Natasha," Before the world went black.

**Ah, I know not a very happy place to end on on Christmas eve, so sue me. There's just the epilogue left, and if I have time I may be able to post it tonight, if not, def. Tomorrow. Three cheers for Shx refrences too! Merry Christmas!**

**Photo41**


	4. A Brighter Future

**Merry Christmas! :D SO I can't believe I finished a chaptered story, but that said, I didn't really write half of it. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it. Thanks for visiting, and Mery Christmas to all, and too all a good night! (I never said I was original.) **

The alarm clock blared loudly. Natasha fumbled for the dial and turned it off. Wait. Natasha sat up grabbed the clock and stared at it for a good minute. It was silent. It wasn't continuing to peal. She was alive, she leaped up and ran to her mirror- she was unchanged! The bed was her own, the room was her own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before her was her own, to make amends in!

"I know what I've done wrong!" Natasha, as she scrambled around the room. "Oh Anya! Thank you, for giving me my life back!"

"I don't know what to do!" cried Natasha, laughing and crying in the same breath; "I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as... as Tony. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world!"

She had run into the sitting-room, and was now standing there: perfectly silent.

"There's the door, by which the Ghost of Anya entered. There's the corner where the Ghost of Tony, sat. There's the window where I saw Steve. It's all right, it's all true, it all happened. It did. And even if I dreamt it, I don't care. I know what I need. Ha ha ha!"

Really, for a woman who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh.

She checked her phone. It was still Christmas. Running to the window, she opened it, and put out her head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious. Glorious!

She decided to go out. Why, she didn't really know. Nothing was open, but she. As he stood by her door, pulling on her coat, there, the knocker caught her eye.

"I shall love it, as long as I live!" cried Natasha, patting it with her hand. "I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an honest expression it has in its face. It's a wonderful knocker."

As she wandered, the people were by this time pouring forth, going for walks, going to and from churches, walking with her hands behind her, she watched the people hurrying to and fro, and watched children frolick, and realized, with a little disdain, that she found herself once again envious of families on Christmas. She had never dreamed that any walk - that anything - could give her so much happiness. After returning to her house after successfully acquiring a bottle of wine, she decided to take the leap, and go to Maria's.

She weasled her way into the building, and passed the door a dozen times, before she had the courage to go up and knock. She could hear them like she was inside the apartment with them; but of course, the Avengers were never known for being quiet. But she made a dash, and did it: she heard Maria make excuses about a nosy neighbour- the door opened.

"Natasha?"

"Maria. I brough some wine. I don't really know if it's any good, I usually drink stronger stuff."

"Follow me." Natasha followed Maria until they reached the appropriate door. "Better let me go first." Natasha waited as Maria entered the room and told the others that they had a surprise guest. Natasha turned the handle gently, and sidled his face in, round the door.

The room was silent. Natasha stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, as they all gaped at her.

"Merry Christmas" she began "Maria invited me to dinner. Do you mind if I join you?"

Let her join them! It is a mercy Thor didn't squeeze her to death. She was at home again in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. They were all glad to see her, and no one mentioned the fact that she'd alienated herself from them for the past 25 years- she supposed that conversation would come about later- it was Christmas after all.

Natasha still didn't feel whole however- the ghosts also revealed to her that the constant bitterness she was feeling wasn't from early retirement, it was from loneliness. And the hole that that loneliness left felt a lot fuller than before, it was still missing a large chunk. And Natasha knew who that chunk was. So while Tony and Cap were in the middle of their 5th argument of the night with Bruce and Thor mediating, Natasha tapped Maria on the shoulder.

"Maria?" Hill turned. "Can I borrow your phone? I'm... I'm afraid my call won't go through if I use mine."Hill handed her the phone without a word. Natasha stepped out on the balcony, after what seemed an eternity, dialled the number. After what seemed another eternity, he picked up.

"Barton."

"Merry Christmas Clint."Silence. "Clint?" Natasha was starting to worry he was going to have a heart attack from the shock.

"Nat..Natasha?"

"You know technically, I'm supposed to celebrate Christmas in a couple weeks, being Russian Orthodox, but you never thought of that. Expected me to conform to your Americanism."

"That figures. You were always late anyway." She can hear the grin.

"When are you coming back?"

"Back to where?"

"Not Alaska."

"Soon. Why?" There it was. How was she supposed to respond? Coulson visited me from beyond the grave? She answered honestly.

"I... I miss you. Sorry it took me so long to realize"

"I've missed you too." They listened to each other breath over the phone for a good minute before Natasha spoke again.

"You should retire. Come help me train the new agents. They have terrible aim." It wasn't a marriage proposal per se, but Clint knew Natasha well enough to understand what she meant. Natasha held her breath; she was still waiting for Clint to start yelling.

"the good thing about Russian Christmas Romanov, means we can celebrate it when I get back." Natasha thought she was empty of tears, but it seemed not to be the case.

"Sounds like a plan Barton. I'm on Maria's phone. I'll call you when I get back to my place, if you're not to old that it's passed your bedtime." Clint scoffed.

"I never grew up Tash."

"Don't I know it."

"Talk to you soon."

"I love you." Natasha hung up before he could reply, grinning like she had never had before. She returned to everyone else, feeling that perhaps, everything would be alright.

But she was early at training the next morning. Oh she was early there. If she could only be there first, and the new agents coming late! That was the thing she had set his heart upon.

And she did it; yes, he did. The clock struck nine. No students. A quarter past. Natasha sat with her door wide open, that she might see them come into the training room.

"Hallo," growled Natasha, in her accustomed voice. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?"

"We're very sorry, ma'am," said Bob. "we _are_ behind our time."

"You are?" repeated Natasha. "Yes. I think you are. Step this way, if you please."

"It's only once a year, ma'am," pleaded one of the agents. "It shall not be repeated."

"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," said Natasha, "I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. If you're late for a mission you're dead. Do you understand? When Agent Barton starts training you, if you're late for HIS class, then I guarantee he'll shoot you. And then you'll be dead here too. Now, where were we the day before?"

The agents stood with their mouths agape, fully expecting some kind of torture rather than a reprimand. It didn't come.

"Stop standing around, move!"

No one lives forever. Death is inevitable. But what we do with that time can change how long we live and whether or not we're happy. When Clint stepped off the airplane and into Natasha's arms less than a day after she had hung up on him, he was never parted from her again. Retirement suited them better than either of them would ever admit, and the only Tony & Cap Natasha saw again were the ones made of flesh and blood. And although eventually they both needed a tombstone, when the time came, they were side by side rather than alone.

**I hope it was a satisfying ending, and I'm sorry if you're getting this on Boxing rather than Christmas day. It's still technically Christmas in my time zone... so that's my excuse. Again, thank you for reading, and all the best for 2013**

**Photo41**


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